


Lesson Eight; Fennel and the Annoyance of Insubordinate Laws of Physics

by an_evasive_author



Series: Continued Studies of Fatherhood [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood, F/M, Family Fluff, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 15:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20762693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: Acquiring one's first set of teeth is never fun. This is no different for little Carnistir, who, though already not the happiest of elves, does not enjoy the never ceasing aches. Naturally, as experienced parents do, Nerdanel and Fëanáro do their very best to relief their tiniest son from pain. It is a thankless duty, one where, no matter what one tries, one gets yelled at.But such is the duty of a devoted parent and it is not as if they are not already used to it.





	Lesson Eight; Fennel and the Annoyance of Insubordinate Laws of Physics

Carnistir was not happy, though that in itself was nothing new. But this time had many reasons. For one, he had awoken with a terrible ache in his gums. Then he had not been cuddled long enough, for the discomfort had remained. Cuddles where supposed to make things better and yet they where still quite terrible.

This was most disagreeable, unappreciated and in need of correction. Carnistir had no quarrels giving his opinion on the matter, which, not being able to speak just yet manifested itself as angry screeching.

Fëanáro and Nerdanel, now quite the seasoned parents, had seen the signs of teething and promptly started to act. Though no one could anticipate just how this development would go, there where signs that seemed to be generally the same.

The short section on child raising in Fëanáro's library was liberally and frequently consulted, means of distractions planned. Other than that, there was little they could do but wait.

Well, that and offer distracting stimulation.

* * *

Heavy clonking noises of wood sharply impacting wood could be heard from the corner where a soft rug had been laid out. It was a sheeps' pelt, the wool washed and groomed until it was as soft as a cloud. It was also too thick to stack proper towers on it, for the balance was terribly off.

But that was alright, for this corner was reserved for Fëanáro's youngest. Carnistir did not yet possess the necessary dexterity to build towers and castles.

The corner of the study held the greatest advantage in that Fëanáro could easily observe his infant son without having to turn around all the way. This made things slightly easier when it was his turn, for work could not simply be ignored just because Fëanáro had to watch his children.

The smallest ones at least. Most of his sons could by now be trusted to not choke on their own fists or take a tumble down the stairs, which had lessened some of the workload by not having to constantly worry that any of the princely brood had hurt themselves.

He tried to work, but even though no one was currently in need of him, his sons still distracted him. Through the window, Fëanáro could hear them talk. He caught just the edges of their conversation and some choice insults as Kanafinwë and Tyelkormo squabbled.

Observing them, Fëanáro hummed playfully. They had strung a rope between two of the trees near the thicket of the garden and took turns balancing across the entire length. He watched them before turning back to see after his youngest.

Little Carnistir had been presented with a new toy in lieu of joining his brothers and to hopefully distract him from the ache in his jaw. A board with shapes cut out, matching blocks to slide them through. All had the edges sanded off and painted in happy colours.

The hole Carnistir had chosen for now was round. This in itself was neither a problem nor strange. Perhaps he liked the colour of the wood around it, every cut-out had a portion carefully painted. Whatever the reason, Carnistir was determined and would have no other.

The problem became apparent when one took into account that the block Carnistir frantically tried to force through the wooden slider was, indeed, a block. The curves meant for a perfect circle made it quite impossible to slide through, but Carnistir was not one deterred by things as disagreeable as laws of physic.

And so the furious hammering continued because by the Valar, something would need to give. Carnistir seemed absolutely determined that it would not be him. The clonking sounds did not cease.

Fëanáro, very proud and very much unable to work with _that_ kind of noise in the background, smiled fondly as he watched. Head resting on his arm, ears twitching at the noise, he leaned back against his chair and simply enjoyed the sight of his youngest son having...fun. Surely that was what Carnistir now experienced, or so Fëanáro hoped. It was hard to tell. It could have been spite.

* * *

Armed with a cold cloth for Carnistir to gnaw on and hopefully soothe his aching mouth, Nerdanel entered the study and was greeted by a wall of noise. Speaking would have meant to shout over the ruckus and she did not fancy a sore throat. And so she walked past her tiny son and sidled up next to Fëanáro.

She watched her tiny son struggle with his blocks and the concepts of shapes before she leaned against Fëanáro's shoulder. “Oh-ho, a trapezoid. How very exotic. Did you make it for the occasion?” she asked over the commotion. They needed to time their words carefully around the noise to avoid shouting.  
  
Fëanáro coiled his arm around her waist and puller her closer to himself to mouth at her until she giggled and batted him away playfully. Fëanáro hummed as they watched Carnistir work so concentrated, “He hasn't quite worked up the nerve for it yet, give it some time.”

“Well if he keeps pounding it so, it will all be turned to dust soon enough.”

“At least dust won't prove an obstacle. Perhaps that is his approach,” said Fëanáro.

Nerdanel tittered, “He inherited your problem solving abilities, I have no doubt.”

Fëanáro did not disagree but pinched her in the hip. Nerdanel gave a ludic, delighted yelp and grabbed her husband to kiss and distract him.

The clanks and clonks ceased abruptly, instead Carnistir hiccuped, terribly upset, and began whimpering angrily like a steaming kettle.

“He is getting frustrated, my poor dear,” Nerdanel said and nudged Fëanáro so he would follow her.

Nerdanel stroked Carnistir's head and offered the cold, damp cloth. Carnistir bit into it with a vengeance to get payback for such an insult. While he gnawed and suckled at it, wringing it of moisture, he still clutched the block tightly. Between the frustrated blubbering and the tears dripping from Carnistir's red cheeks, there seemed to be no salvation for this conundrum.

But Fëanáro, intending to save his tiny son, crouched down and hummed. With a single finger --ever so slightly-- he pushed the colourful shape Carnistir still held to the left. A tiny nudge, just enough so the very bottom of the block caught in the right opening.

Carnistir stilled and looked down. His brow furrowed in a look of such utter concentration and his jaw worked feverishly. He thought and weighed his decision, considering his next move. And then, tentatively, he let go. With a wooden scrape, the block fell through and landed on the carpet.

There was utter silence for a moment, heavy, meaningful silence while Carnistir contemplated his success. And then he gave a happy crow and flapped his arms at such a monumental success. Just like that, all anger had vanished and Carnistir, very pleased with himself now screamed for very different reasons.

Everyone needed to be made aware of this tremendous feat.

* * *

Outside, Nelyafinwe had been busy lending a steadying hand to Tyelkormo as his younger brother had braved the rope and now hung from Nelyo's back.

Kanafinwë watched them from the other end and eyed the rope, one foot already set on the knot where it had been tied around the trunk of the birch tree.

Nelyo, red hair bound into a careless knot, waved towards him, “Kana, come try it yourself.”

Kanafinwë gave the rope a wary look but dutifully pushed himself up and rested one hand against the smooth trunk.

Tyelko laughed and shifted on Nelyo's back, pulling himself up until he could look over his brother's head as they watched Kana make graceful steps along the rope.

A shriek echoed from the house and into the garden. Kanafinwë, his concentration now wholly shattered, gave a similar shriek and tumbled from the rope.

* * *

When all the scuffs and cuts had been taken care of and ruffled prides smoothed, tea was served.

Utterly elated about his triumph, Carnistir cooed to himself and allowed his mother to feed him with tiny spoonfuls of marmalade. Such success needed to be properly celebrated and not even the thumping heat in his jaw could dampen the pride he now felt.

Carnistir, appeased with marmalade, gave a little huff and waved his hands around. For him teatime had concluded and this meant he wished to be entertained again. It was not his fault that the others where so terribly slow.

When the grousing and complaining became quite too much, Carnistir was set before his blocks to show off. There was much praise and compliments as Carnistir demonstrated his newest skill.

But all too soon he felt neglected again, his jaw demanding attention and with nothing to gum on to relief it, Carnistir's mood turned sour again until he was whisked off to be tickled and cuddled with.

* * *

When Fëanáro had apprenticed under Mahtan, there had been changes to Fëanáro's carefully established routine. Before that, Fëanáro had lived the life of a prince, as was proper. As an apprentice, his servants had been politely told to leave and not get under their feet as they worked.

And since chores did not vanish simply because no one suited was there to do them, Fëanáro had been expected to do them himself.

This had taken time to get his head around and he had suffered much indignity at the hands of Nerdanel and Mahtan. Fëanáro remembered most vividedly and still with a hot blush of shame, when he had first demanded for meals to be brought to him.

Mahtan had pulled aside his apprentice, sat down with him and laughed in his face before ordering him to learn basic cookery.

And, though begrudgingly, Fëanáro had done so with Nerdanel as his harrowing teacher. It seemed only fair to teach their children the same skills. So, from time to time, they cooked together. The results largely varied.

For where obedient Nelyo peeled potatoes and caught Kanafinwë before he could weasel away from his own work, Tyelkormo was somewhat of a different story.

“Tyelko! Don't run with a knife!” called Fëanáro and tried to herd his now armed child back in before anyone would loose an eye. He turned sharply, too sharply, nearly rammed his hip into the corner of the table and careened half a foot further than he wished before catching himself and hounding behind Tyelko once more.

Tyelko, adamant to not have unwanted greens in his food, did not listen. By his _flawless_ logic, taking away the knife meant no one could cut vegetables. Irissë would have been proud.

Nerdanel meanwhile, unbothered and wholly confident that Fëanáro had the matter well in hand, used her own knife. A pan clattered as Fëanáro brushed past it.

Surrendering meant vegetables and Tyelko would have rather perished on the spot. He used the short-cut under the table, where his father could not and would not deem to follow and made to flee, Fëanáro in hot pursuit.

Fëanáro snarled like a wild dog, “Tyelko!”

“No!” came the yelled reply as both of them vanished in the hallway. No one paid them any mind, too busy with other things.

Carnistir, left to his own devices, sat in his high chair and surveyed the working elves in front of him. He kicked his little feet and played with a few slices of apple they had laid out for him.

Some time later, Fëanáro could be seen in the gardens, Tyelko too small to reach over the windowsill and so it looked like Fëanáro was simply running madly to and fro.

Carnistir, now no longer the centre of attention, pouted. His gaze searched around for distraction, the apples long mushed and unappetizing. Another distraction to amuse himself with needed to be found.

Something caught his eye. It was a bulbous thing white and green, with long stalks and tufts of fluffy green at the top. How fantastical it looked. The smell, too, was most curious and he stretched tiny hands to grab for this strange new toy.

* * *

“Where is the fennel,” asked Nerdanel when she looked up. The screaming from Fëanáro had stopped and the vegetables where chopped. She had been fully absorbed in her preparations. But now the vegetables where heaped in neat piles and she was becoming aware of the fact that the fennel was missing.

Kanafinwë shrugged, busy trying to tame his hair back into its braid. Nelyo pointed behind his mother. “I don't think you will get it back.”

Nerdanel turned, eyebrow raised curiously and sighed when she saw what he meant, “Oh no...”

* * *

Fëanáro, leaves in his hair and twigs in his clothes, had Tyelko slung over his shoulder, the knife in his other hand. He stomped past Nelyo and Kanafinwë who had moved on to oiling a pan and filling a large pot with water respectively.

Tyelko was sat down at the water basin and cleaned, much to screeching protest. “Don't you dare complain,” said Fëanáro and wiped Tyelko's face clean. Or there will be no meat for you. Or sweets.”

“But then I have to starve!” called Tyelko, utterly horrified. Corn was not yet in season, after all.

Fëanáro huffed gruffly and brought the cloth over Tyelko's face to wipe away whatever smears of mud had somehow settled there. Tyelko squeaked and was treated to a mouthful of wash cloth.

“Dear, we might have an entirely different problem,” said Nerdanel when Fëanáro had cleaned himself and begun to pick the twigs from his clothes.

Fëanáro turned into the indicated direction, still smoothing down his hair, “What now—oh...”

There, in his high chair, sat Carnistir and clutched the fennel fruit. His eyes peaked from behind the uncut stalks of it, the green, tufted leaves sprouting to either side. Carnistir was too small to properly look over it.

“I suppose we could try to take it,” said Nerdanel and made to stretch out her hand.

Carnistir would not surrender the fennel and howled angrily when Nerdanel attempted to tug the fruit away. As if his life depended on it, his fingers clawed ever tighter the more Nerdanel pulled, like a little choking vine. The air smelled faintly of anise when Carnistir's tiny nails dug into the fruit, injuring the stringy skin. He coveted it greedily, jealously like a priceless treasure.

“Well then, my dears, your brother decided there will be no fennel tonight,” said Fëanáro with weary finality and Tyelko's cheering made it quite plain that Carnistir had just risen highly in Tyelko's good graces.

While Tyelko bounced around, Carnistir's puzzled, nettled gaze followed him, still clutching the fennel as if fearing someone would steal it.

* * *

“He smells of anise, so that is rather nice,” said Nerdanel after supper and sniffed at Carnistir's head to confirm that indeed Carnistir now smelled like black licorice.

Carnistir, still clutching his fennel, groused quietly but could not help himself cooing in between his numerous attempts to look terribly put upon and huffy. Instead he looked terribly weary and tired, his tiny ears drooped like wilting flowers. His eyes had nearly fallen shut but would jerk open sporadically with ever greater pauses between them.

Fëanor, who cared not for licorice, kept his peace and instead offered to bring Carnistir to bed. Nerdanel kissed him and sauntered off to catch Tyelko and shoo her other sons to bed.

It was somewhat of a challenge to change Carnistir into his sleeping garments whilst manoeuvring aroundthe stupid fennel Carnistir would not let _go_. Fëanáro, who usually loved challenges, sighed softly and utterly resigned while Carnistir gave shrill warnings, rising higher in pitch and volume when he felt his fennel threatened.

“My dear, you cannot even eat solid things,” said Fëanáro as he wrangled one of Carnistir's little arms through the blue sleeve of his romper. He could have snatched the vegetable away and would have been treated to one awe-inspiring temper-tantrum.

And so, though the desire was great to get it over with, his ears still hurt and he could hear the after-effects of Carnistir's previous screams. Instead he gave Carnistir an imploring stare which his sleepy son tried to return just as fiercely, “And I would be rather surprised if you liked fennel.”

Fëanáro did not like fennel. Neither did he particularly care for anise and he truly detested licorice. He did not understand why Kanafinwë and Nerdanel where so utterly ravenous for it and neither did he wish to find out.

But at least there was still hope for his other sons. Nelyo was just as appalled as Fëanáro was and Tyelko did not eat any sweets that where not sugared enough to make one's teeth ache. But if Fëanáro would have believed in omens, this did not bode well for little Carnistir who tried to bite Fëanáro's hand. The toothless gums made for little more than a bit of wet squish and Fëanáro wiped the slobber inconspicuously on his robe.

Once in bed, with his blanket tucked around both him and the fruit, Carnistir gave him an exasperated look until Fëanáro made exaggerated faces. Carnistir laughed until his face turned red and kicked his feet around until suddenly he did not. Blown out like a candle, he was asleep the next moment, unbothered by his father still bowed over the crib. The fennel he did not let go.

The infernal fruit was by now lightly wilted at the green tufts of its twigs, with small marks where Carnistir had dug into it. The plan was to change it out with a stuffed toy. This was quite easy in theory and caused Fëanáro no end of stress in its execution. One wrong move, one tiny finger pried off too fast and the screaming would start again. Delicacy was needed now.

But indeed Fëanáro's trust in his own skills was well founded and Carnistir now gripped his stuffy and yawned quietly.

Fëanáro sighed and was surprised at the weight that seemed to lift off his shoulders. He bend down, the fennel still clutched to his chest and kissed Carnistir who still smelled of licorice.

With this finally over, Fëanáro thanked whoever might have listened and made to flee to his own bed. He was now smelling like fennel too and who knew what Nerdanel would think of that.


End file.
